


Dean's Lullaby

by Daughter_of_The_Storm



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Family, Gen, Lullaby Inspired by Tumblr music post, Music, baby!dean - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 05:56:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daughter_of_The_Storm/pseuds/Daughter_of_The_Storm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started with a Lullaby and a music box. Softly sung and played, held warm in loving arms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean's Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this tumblr Post 
> 
> http://what-the-fandom.tumblr.com/post/56278036557/littlelosthunter-blow-jobs-from-nuns
> 
> I do not own Carry on My Wayward Son or Supernatural. I just don't. Wish I did, but alas, it is not to be. Enjoy!

It was nearly two o’clock in the morning when the Impala rumbled into it’s spot in the driveway. It had been a rough night at the factory and John was bone weary as he stumbled up the steps and fumbled with his key in the door. He stepped into the house as quietly as he could and closed the door with a silent and practiced hand. He turned to make his way up the steps to join Mary in bed.

He was stopped half way down the hall by an unfamiliar sound. He followed the sound back to the kitchen and there found Mary.

She was walking up and down the kitchen floor, rocking Dean in her arms and singing softly. He could hardly hear the words at first; as he grew closer though

“…Though my eyes could see   
I still was a blind man…  
Though my mind could think  
I still was a mad man.  
I hear the voices when I’m Dreaming  
I can hear them say…  
Carry on my wayward son  
There’ll be peace when you are done  
Lay your weary head to rest  
Don’t you cry no more….”

The song was haunting, the way she sang so slowly, so softly, along to the sound of a music box that was sitting in a glass bowl. The gentle tinkling sound made clear and strong in its crystal prison. He found himself enchanted by the sight and sound and leaned against the door way to watch, for just a little while. To borrow the comfort of Mary’s voice for just a few minutes.

It was not unusual, Mary singing rock and roll to Dean to get him to sleep when he was troubled. The baby was colicky and often had choppy nights; the unusual thing was the music box, sending its tune into the air.

She’d talked about maybe getting something for their little one, to help him stay asleep once she’d sung him there.

Hell, he’d been thinking about having one commissioned, making it a surprise for the two brightest spots in his life.   
She’d beat him to it, but that was, in his mind, a mother’s prerogative, to give her child whatever it was they needed.

It was a memory that John would ever hold dear.

That memory, of a still, quiet moment on one stormy night so long ago, held in a small music box painted with stars and moons and arcane signs of protection. John would keep both close to his heart until the day he died.


End file.
